The Prophecy: Forsworn
by Number1Monkey
Summary: The story of the last leg of the Prophecy, it follows Allison's daughter as she fights the balances of Heaven, Hell, and Earth trapped between the two.


Angels were not beings of immense compassion that radiated light coming to earth in times of man's need whether to the individual or the peoples to spread God's word. And her mother made sure she knew this. Yet despite all of this Chrys could not banish the images of the pious, humble visages who gazed down on her childhood from stained glass windows, or the elegant winged women that topped nearly every Christmas tree, a holiday which they never celebrated. She was running, for what very well may have been her life, fierce and murderous men hot on her heels. What Chrys didn't know was why, nor could she have guessed the role that she would come to play in the war of Heaven.

For it was the war in Heaven that had spilt out like a bloody wave to cover the earth and sent these madmen who were in truth angels to her door. Her heart raced hammering thunderously in her head, her shoes struggling to gain traction on the slick concrete alleyway. She fell, letting out a cry, a heady cocktail of pain, fear, and frustration. The blood, her mother's blood, that of a Nephilim, staining the ground as the abrasive earth tore through denim and flesh. Thrusting herself back to her feet the young woman merged seamlessly with a crowd of passers bys, leaving some to glace the way she'd come like sheep on the fringe of the flock peering after the wolf.

Keeping her head down she forced herself to walk when every nerve ending screamed maddeningly to run. She was fourteen years old, fast approaching fifteen and she was sure that today was the day that she was going to die. She and her mother had moved from place to place since the time of her birth in the distant now foreign country of Romania. Now she was in New York, and glad of it, of all the places one could vanish to New York seemed the best, for like in this massive swirling throng of bodies it was so too the best to vanish into.

The curly copper hair crowning her head was a tangled mess thrown to the wind as it was, and her green eyes were red rimmed and swollen with the pressure of tears kept at bay. In the calming anonymity of the group the girl finally had time to process what she had just witnessed. Her mother on the floor, house in shambles, a smear of red, and a tall dark figure. She'd come home, late after an argument over her academics and less than saintly behavior. Chrys who had been taking on a rebellious streak weary of her life as a modern day gypsy had been caught with cigarettes, Allison, her mother had not been pleased.

After spending several hours at a friends house, the self-same boy in fact who had supplied her with the contraband Chrys had decided to venture home rather than have her angry and fearful mother call out the brigade. Finding the door ajar before she could put the key in her front door, she entered cautiously. Furniture, books, everything was a mass of disarray and chaos. Edging her way inside Chrys saw the first stains of blood on the floor and walls she became dizzy with fright and anxiety almost at once. A painful groan near the kitchen caught her attention and foolishly she peered around the corner and looked. There on the floor body broken and bloody lie her mother a final shuddering breath escaping her lips as from above blood rained down on her from the heart which had been torn from her chest.

Even if she hadn't of screamed the acrid scent of fear would have alerted the angels to her presence, only she couldn't find a way to make herself believe they were angels. Staying with the larger group of pedestrians Chrys let out a sob, followed by another. Before she knew it she was crying profusely, her body weak and weary with grief and fear. It was blindly, and if by sheer luck or some found grace of God that she stumbled onto the steps of the church.

Hesitantly the girl made her way inside. It was warmer than she expected, and well lit by numerous candles each marking some patron's prayers. The thought of lighting one for her mother flared brightly in her mind for a moment, but here the solemnity of her grief caused her to seek solitude. Making her way down an empty pew in the back Chrys sat staring bleakly ahead. Unconsciously she reached a hand up and rotated the bracelet she wore on her right arm. It bore several strange markings, now accustomed to her eye, as well as Chrysanthemum, her name in full. At touching this small memento, a birthday gift from her mother Chrys was seized with pain collapsing into her sorrows curling up on the padded bench weeping.

As the girl cried drifting eventually into the realm of sleep she had no way of knowing the odds that were currently stacked against her, the Prophecy that bound her fate to not only Heaven, and Hell, but also to the staggered few of her kind that remained. Neither did she know that this culling like unto a field of wheat was a culling of her kind, and the kind of her mother. It was to be the end of the Nephilim, beings born of the unification of human women and angels. The killings had begun with a man named Danyeal and his children leaving his wife to ruination and suicide. What she did know however was the determination that burned brightly within, almost as brightly as her desire for vengeance.

**A/N: I don't have regular internet access, but I will try to update this as soon and oftan as ****I can.**


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